You should have told her it was about 45 centimeters. Her brain might have exploded though.
I can understand the pizza lady’s question, though. I can’t picture how big an 18" pizza would be. I can’t picture a foot and a half, either. Someone should have held out their arms a foot and a half away from each other and said “this big”. Question answered, no problem.
This was in an English course I was taking at college. We’d been reading HG Wells’ The War of the Worlds and The Time Machine. The prof. asked if anyone had any questions, and this one guy raised his hand and asked, “What if the guy from The Time Machine, like, only went a little bit forward in time and ended up when the Martians were invading?” The professor wait two beats, then asked, “Does anyone have any GOOD questions?”
I am constantly being asked if I work at (fill in almost any location here). My wife says it is because I look like I own the place wherever I go (God love her, she’s too good for me). I have no reason to explain why and I do tell 'em I don’t work there but, knowing how wonderful customer service is nowadays, I try to be helpful anyway-- collaring ANY passerby, opening up stuff, leaving a pile of things on the floor-- and everyone winds up having fun until an employee shows up and ruins it. Tough shit, buddy, you should’ve been there before we made a mess.
As for KFC and being asked if the order is to go-- I was living in Japan and went to the KFC in Yamato and ordered about two hundred dollars worth of stuff [the same amount as about $75 would buy in an American KFC] for an impromptu party. This KFC is about as big as a Volkswagon with all of three or four tables and the delightful little Japanese dish (practicing her trained English) did ask me… all together now, you can see it coming from a mile away… if this order was to go. sigh
When television first got to Ireland, my great-grandmother was asked her opinion of the the whole thing. Now I imagine the BBC must have been showing old English war movies and such becuase her response was, “It’s all very nice, but where do they put all those bodies?”
once, after standing in line for movie tickets, with a dozen people standing behind me, i asked the girl if i could get in for half price if i promised to keep one eye shut.
she bent her head to one side, (to engae her brain?) and said " i don’t know- i’ll ask the manager" and off she went.
the people in line behind me were not real happy with me.
after about ten minutes, she came back. i finally got the tickets and away from the rapidly forming lynch mob.
i swear to you, i didn’t think anyone would take that question seriously.
if this girl had another neuron, she’d have a synapse.
unfortunatly, i am still a smart-ass.
by the way, they won’t let you in for half price, even if you do keep one eye shut.
I work in a smoothie place. Kind of like Jamba Juice but better. I do have sympathy for many people who ask the borderline-braindead questions, like “what sizes do you have,” etc. because many places have VERY poorly designed menus and/or deceptive customer service practices. My store, however, does not. The menu is very nicely designed and everything is straightforward and easy to understand. I’ve managed to rid myself of the truly homicidal urges that I get in response to numbskulls acting like idiots it the store though, because it was causing too much stress. People have always been, and most likely will continue to always be really, really stupid.
But how about the woman who waltzes into the store, actually looks at the gigantic menu that has the letters “S-M-O-O-T-H-I-E-S” printed very large, right on the tippy-top, and looks at me and asks: “Do you have smoothies here?” As i coolly continue to smile, i tell her “yes we do!” To which she replies:
“What’s a smoothie?”
Of course, what she really did was step out back and have a cigarette, reflecting that after she had just listened to the stupidest question of all time without going stark raving mad, she owed herself a break…
…oh, and that it wouldn’t hurt to let you stew for a while 
It’s been two years, one month and 13 days since that post. I imagine he’s done stewing over it by now. 
Aaaagh! Zombie Threads[sup]TM[/sup]. Now in 3D!
Okay Rocketeer, admit it. You’re the girl, right?
I can think of no other reason why someone respond to a post made two years ago. Especially when the orginal poster only has 86 posts, total. What are the odds that they even still post here?
Ooh! I have no idea how this thread got bumped back up, but…
I’m in a town in the ass end of nowhere, Mississippi. I’m at one of these horrible dollar stores that seem to infest the entire south of the US of A. Their POS system is broken, and this is my second trip there to fix it…because the first time the parts department pre-shipped the wrong components to fix it.
SOP was, if the first repair didn’t work right, just swap the fucker with the new POS system they just sent.
Well, it’s about 4:30pm. The replacement POS is defective.
There are two registers, and I’m ripping the old one apart and cannibalizing the replacement to try to make one, healthy register.
Register one has a line to the back of the store. Register two is covered with various bits, pieces, and circuit boads. I’m standing there, with my screwdriver in the POS and swearing like a sailor.
And, some genius woman walks up and asks…
(wait for it)
“Is this register open?”
Sure, it’s open. It’s completely fucking open. So open you can see its guts all over the fucking counter! All those other people? The ones standing in the line that will get them out of here (in half an hour if they’re lucky!) are just a bunch of idiots. They’re not NEARLY as clever as you are.
God, I hate this fucking state.
Yes, I know things like this happen everywhere, but I still hate this fucking state.
-Joe
I love the charm of an old thread ressurrected from the dead, like murderous ghouls arisen to beat you over the head with the club of long lost wisdom, sending you into the land of sleepless stupor where everyone knows where everyone works, and to go or not to go will be painted in red and blue letters on everyone’s dilated pupils, like a patriotic montage of pure unfettered-by-speech desire that will someday be the precursor to the evolution of telepathy in homo sapien. Amen!